


I Want You To Want Me?

by ElliHelm



Series: Inevitable [3]
Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: (Yes That Does Need To Be Stated In The Context Of This Episode), (Yes That Is A Very Specific "Fuck You" At Both Canon And Fandom), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Blink And You Miss It Jealous Leif, Clueless Leif Donnelly, Episode: s01e08 Zoey's Extraordinary Glitch, F/M, Frenemies with Benefits, Height Differences, I Project My Feelings About Simon/Jessica Through Zoey, If You Don't Like That Then Tough Shit, Jealous Zoey Makes Several Appearances, Leif Donnelly's Eyebrow Scar, Likable Max Richman, Oblivious Zoey Clarke, Respect Simon "Not A Cheater" Haynes, Shameless Parks And Rec References, This Fic Has Everything, Tobin Batra's Gigantic Cereal Bowl, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElliHelm/pseuds/ElliHelm
Summary: Murphy'sZoey's Law:Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.orJust when Zoey thinks her day can't get any worse, the universe decides to prove her wrong.
Relationships: Zoey Clarke & Max Richman, Zoey Clarke & Simon Haynes, Zoey Clarke/Leif Donnelly
Series: Inevitable [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785943
Comments: 11
Kudos: 24





	I Want You To Want Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Holy. Freaking. Cow. _**FINALLY**_ this is completed.
> 
> It feels a little bit like I've been working on this for years. It has been such a long process of starting and stopping and starting and stopping this fic. Agonizing over word choice and characterization and dialogue and _how the freaking hell to write heart songs_. This has been a labor of love because I really do love Leif and Zoey and their story, especially in this universe, means the absolute WORLD to me. Hence why I keep writing installments out of order. I just can't resist filling in all the missing pieces, you know!
> 
> This is long. I know that's not gonna be everyone's cup of tea, so I won't feel bad if that's your only gripe with this fic. Hopefully you like and appreciate my characterization. Hopefully this rings true to everyone like it does to me. And if you like it and wanna see more, just know that more is coming. It might take another four months, but I'm not abandoning these two anytime soon.
> 
> And before we start, I'd like to dedicate this one to the Discord but especially to [leifstroganoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifstroganoff/pseuds/leifstroganoff) who has been my biggest cheerleader and supporter in this universe, plotting and validating and even catgunning when necessary. I hope there are still enough surprises left in here for you to make it worth it. ♥

_“FYI, this isn’t my fault just because I wrote the entire calendar code.”_

At the time, Zoey couldn’t have possibly known that those words from Tobin were just an omen, a hint of all the bad things to come during the day. If she _had_ known, she’d have stepped back into the elevator and gone right back home. Just chalked the day up to a wash immediately and texted Joan that she was feeling sick. Whatever damage that would’ve done to her career still would’ve been better than the utter _humiliation_.

But she doesn’t know. She ignores the spark of anxiety and rush of dread to give a reply that’s half-joke, half-probing and then proceeds to tune Tobin out as she walks in, listening just enough to hear _what_ the issue with the calendar is and that, _apparently_ , he was on it. _Must’ve been **some** talk with Leif._

_Speaking of…_

When she looks over at Joan’s office she spots him leaning over, and that in itself isn’t _strange_ — they’ve _both_ been working more closely with Joan on the Chirp, not just each other — but it’s almost… _too close_. _**Too friendly**_. _Had she missed something?_

“Super weird how chummy they are lately, huh?”

It’s Max’s voice that pulls her out of her thoughts, with his unusually astute observation. Man, if even _Max_ can see that something’s up with Joan and Leif, that has to mean something, right?

“Weird’s _one_ word for it,” she replies, and if she’s just a bit rougher with her purse well… it’s not like anyone’s going to _notice_ anyway.

 _Max_ certainly doesn’t, because the next thing out of his mouth is, “Do you think something’s going on between them?”

“ _What?!_ ” Alright, so maybe she doesn’t need to sound _quite_ so surprised by that, she’d probably be wondering the same thing if she didn’t know any better, but—

“ _You know_ … Joan _did_ just get divorced and it’s _Leif_. Would you really put sleeping with the boss past him?”

No. _No she wouldn’t_. And that is _definitely_ part of the problem, though Max thankfully has the **wrong** boss in mind.

“Yeah, but _Joan_ wouldn’t. Not with _Leif_ anyway.” Zoey pauses and tries to picture it for a moment. Joan and Leif. _Kissing_. Just the mental image of it alone is enough to make her cringe, and she’d normally dismiss it on that alone, but when she looks back at them in the office… _Maybe…_

 **Nope**. Too weird. _Not possible_. Not without Leif being even more of a bastard than she’d thought, so there isn’t any point in entertaining that thought.

“Maybe you’re right,” he muses, and when Zoey looks back at Max his expression is contemplative. God, _please stay oblivious **please stay oblivious**_. “I’m having a hard time imagining _anyone_ kissing Leif, honestly. Least of all _Joan_.”

Zoey nearly breathes a sigh of relief, but mixed in with the relief is also a healthy dose of _guilt_ , nagging at her as she nods perhaps a bit _too_ enthusiastically in agreement. “ _Yeah_. Hooking up with _Leif?_ That’s like… kissing a _Slytherin_. _**Blegh**_.”

The necessary shudder to sell the charade comes easily as she thinks again about Leif and Joan, but she can’t quite shake the feeling that she’s making a mistake not just in keeping this from Max, but outright _lying_ to him about it.

_Maybe she **should** tell him? What’s the worst that happens? He **judges** her? It isn’t like Max hasn’t done his fair share of embarrassing, judgement-worthy things. Maybe…_

“Zoey, can we see you in here for a minute, please?” Joan’s voice calling for her interrupts her train of thought before she can commit one way or the other. _To tell Max or not to tell Max._ It’s a bit of a blessing in disguise, giving her a chance to actually think about what she’s going to tell him (or _if_ she’s even going to tell him anything at all), but there’s something that gives her pause—

“ _ **We?**_ ”

* * *

“So, Danny Michael Davis is coming to town today, and he wants to hear our pitch for the Chirp.”

And leave it to Joan to get right down to business before she’s even sat down. Zoey hesitates before replying, frowning as she processes the information. Danny Michael Davis was coming… here… to SPRQPoint… _today_ … like, _today_ today… _What?_

“Today? Like… _actual_ today?” she asks, wondering for a minute if maybe she’d misheard or if the definition of ‘ _today_ ’ had somehow changed in the past twenty-four hours and Joan doesn’t mean ‘ _today_ ’ like she fears she does. They’re not even _close_ to ready for a pitch, and Zoey’s not entirely sure they have the time to whip one up given the new glitch in the SPRQ watch.

“Surprised me, too, but when the CEO of our company says he wants a meeting _today_ , we give him today.”

Ah. So it hadn’t changed. That probably was a bit _too much_ to hope for.

“Okay, but—” _We’re not ready. We don’t have the time to get ready. What are we even supposed to pitch to him?_ Zoey’s mulling over which issue is the best one to present to Joan when she’s interrupted.

“This is our chance to show him what we can do.” There’s an intensity to Joan’s words that make her even _more_ nervous, worried about the reaction she’ll get when Joan doesn’t hear what she wants to.

_Maybe she has a plan. Maybe Joan has a plan and a pitch mostly ready and she won’t have to rush to BS something from scratch._

“Okay, but can we? _Do?_ ” she asks, glancing between Joan and Leif. She’s got a nagging feeling that she’s missing something _important_ , watching them interact right now. “I mean, do we have enough to show him?”

“We better.” It takes her by surprise when Leif finally chimes in, voice low and intense as he leans in from behind Joan. She can’t help her gut reaction to it — her lips parting and her heart racing and her breath quickening — being attracted to Leif Donnelly is the new normal she’s had to try and get used to, but what he says next certainly does the job of putting a damper on it. “The Chirp is a wonderful product, and Joan deserves to be rewarded for all her hard work and dedication.”

 _Where the hell is all of this coming from? When did she step into an alternate reality where Leif defended Joan like they were some kind of_ item _?_

“Take it down, like, eighty percent.” _And since when did Joan treat that like it was something_ normal _?_ _Just how much has he been kissing up to her in the past twenty-four hours?_ “So, what do we have to do to give Danny a timeline showing him that we can have the Chirp ready in six months?”

 _Oh God, **six months**?_ What was she, some kind of _miracle worker?_

“Um… I could do more like _nine?_ ” Even that estimate sounded pretty generous to her right now give the sheer lack of time she had to come up with said timeline.

“I’m hearing six.”

_Uh oh._

“I just think that—”

“Six.”

_Joan please._

“I could—”

“I would like to hear six months.”

 _Help!_ Zoey glances up at Leif, but instead of the flash of sympathy and save that she’s hoping for, he just cocks that stupid eyebrow of his and looks at her expectantly.

_Et tu, Leifus?_

“... _six months it is_ ,” she agrees, finally, _reluctantly_ , internally cursing her entire existence (and also Leif, the traitorous bastard) as she leaves Joan’s office. _Could this day get_ any _worse?_

“Zoey!” Zoey turns toward Simon’s voice when she hears it, waiting just outside Joan’s office to give him the chance to catch up to her. Talking with Simon always was a mixed bag, but maybe her luck was changing. _Maybe her day would be on the uphill now._ “Tech bloggers are starting to reach out to me for comments on the watch. Any estimates on a fix?”

_Or not._

“What? No, not yet. Um… _Tobin’s_ working on it?” she replies, shrugging and feigning nonchalance that she _definitely_ doesn't feel resting their success fixing this problem on _Tobin’s_ — immature, your-mom-joke-making _**Tobin's**_ — shoulders.

“Great. I… am gonna make some calls,” he says, already walking away from her.

Yeah, she couldn’t blame Simon for that reaction given Tobin’s track record. She isn’t entirely convinced he has it handled either, but with the pitch looming over her, she’ll just have to trust him for now.

“Wait, can I ask you something?” The decision to dart after him is a last minute one, but she falls into step next to him quickly enough that she doesn’t second guess whether it was a mistake to follow after him.

_He’s not avoiding her, at least._

“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t look up from his phone.

_Well he’s not paying attention to her either._

“We are… pitching Danny Michael Davis today.”

“ _Ah_.” _**Jackpot**_. A smile. That was promising, right? If not for the state of their friendship, then at least for some solid advice about how to handle the Danny Michael Davis situation.

“You know him, right?”

“Kinda.” _Kinda?_ Could he _get_ any more vague? That means there’s a story there, right? _There has to be a story there._ “He helped me get this job after we snuck out of the same boring tech panel and ended up hiding in the hotel bar together.”

_Definitely a story there._

“Oh. So you do know him better than me,” she jokes, flailing for something better to say than just that. “The man’s never here, and when he does show up he’s surrounded by a force field of nervous execs at all times.”

“Well, he’s definitely intense, and he operates at a whole different frequency than the rest of us.”

And… absolutely _none_ of this was helping her with her anxiety about the meeting. Intense? Whole different frequency? Super important pitch? _Spiralling. She was spiralling._ And it must be showing on her face because it’s not long before Simon chimes in again.

“Look, if you’re feeling overwhelmed, try being still and taking ten long, deep breaths. It’s part of this new meditation technique I’m doing.”

“Oh. You’ve got a _technique_?” she asks, a tentative grin replacing the panic from earlier as she nods at him.

“I do now. Just trying to keep things calm… up _here_. Know what I mean?”

 _Yes_ , she wants to say. _Dear God, **yes**._ But because she’s _cooler_ than that, she goes for a different approach.

“I _don’t_ know what you mean. I’ve got a _super_ chill brain that _never_ needs calming, so…” The tentative grin is playful now, lips pursed and eyes glinting with mischief as she looks up at him. _He’ll get it, right?_

“Lucky you,” he replies, rolling his eyes, and the camaraderie feels like another small victory. _Yeah, he gets it._

“Yeah. Well, it’s cool that you’re working on yourself, though. _Is it helping?_ ” _Are things getting any better with Jessica?_ She likes to think that the second meaning is implicitly understood. That Simon knows her well enough by now to know what she’s trying to ask him without actually needing to ask it. If he does, then his answer is _definitely_ not promising.

“I’m not… sure yet.”

_Oh._

“I’m sorry. Again. About everything. I feel like I ruined things for you and Jessica, and that’s the _last_ thing I wanted to—”

“You didn’t.” He’s quick to interrupt her, and she has a feeling that that’s meant to _reassure_ her, but it doesn’t. “I mean… _obviously_ some wires got crossed, and she is _definitely_ furious that I lied to her, but it was just a misunderstanding.”

She should not interfere. She should definitely, absolutely, _under no circumstances_ interfere. She’s done enough interfering at this point to last a lifetime. _Zoey no interfering. **Zoey no interfering.**_

_Ah, fuck it._

“Was it, though?” _Oh, she should not be going there._ There is a list of places she should not go, and there? _Right at the top._ _Down this road lies trouble._ “Look, don’t take this the wrong way because I’m over it. Mostly. I think. But… I was _super_ into you.”

“… _oh_.”

“And don’t get me wrong, I value our friendship. A lot. But up until recently, you weren’t exactly making things any _easier_ on that front with all the texting and late night visits and mixed signals. Just because nothing happened _doesn’t_ mean nothing was going on. If _nothing_ was going on, you wouldn’t have been hiding it from Jessica. And that’s not fair. To either of us.”

So that thing where once you get on a roll you don’t really wanna stop? Yeah, that’s kind of where she’s at right now. Only instead of not _wanting_ to stop, she _can’t_. Once the words start coming out of her they take on a life of their own, and instead of _shutting up_ and _quitting while she’s ahead_ she’s just piling on more and _more_ and **more**. Maybe Simon _does_ need to hear it, but does she really need to be the one _saying_ it?

( _Yes_. Ugh. Stupid, good-for-nothing conscience.)

“I’m not going to pretend that I know everything about what’s going on with you and Jessica. But if all of this is just because she can’t personally relate to your dad stuff? Then that’s _dumb_. She doesn’t need to have some tragic backstory to help you through this. She just needs you to communicate with her. And you should communicate with her because she is _stupid_ _hot_ , _freaking awesome_ , and she _really_ cares about you. I am happy to be there for you when you need to talk to someone who gets it. Just… don’t keep using it as an excuse to push her away.”

“…okay. Thank you… I think.” There’s something unreadable in his expression as he replies, short and stilted and _awkward_ , and the fear that she’s made a big mistake and ruined their friendship starts creeping back in. ( _See, Zoey? This is **exactly** why you shouldn’t interfere. **Stupid**._)

And of course, in a moment of perfect timing, a notification comes through on her watch. _Dad’s Doctor Appointment. Dec. 25._ _**Fan-freaking-tastic**_.

“What’s wrong?” Is she imagining the concern in his voice out of some pathological need for everything to be okay between them despite the bombshell she’s just dropped? _Maybe so._ But if he’s asking at all, that’s gotta be a good sign at least.

“Bad timing. I’ve got all this work to do, and I have to go to my father’s doctor’s appointment, which, according to my SPRQPoint watch, is now scheduled for… _Christmas Day_.”

_Thanks, Tobin._

“Ah. Everything okay with your dad, though?” Alright, so maybe she isn’t imagining it at all. _Phew_. Bullet to their friendship dodged _and_ she gets a convenient exit from standing around awkwardly while Simon… processes everything. _Win/win?_ _**Maybe**?_

“I think so,” she says, and she’s already started walking away when she stops at his door, turning back to face him. _They were still friends, right? Surely, there was no harm in just a little bit more friendly banter._ “If he gets his back brace off, he’s gonna be _really_ happy.”

“All right. Well tell him Merry Christmas.”

_Yep. Definitely still friends._

“Thanks.”

* * *

_Numb_.

That’s pretty much the only emotion she’s processing when she walks out of the doctor’s office. Complete, total, _absolute numbness_. It doesn’t even feel like it’s _real_. _It can’t be._ He’s been doing _better_. The medicine’s been _working_. It can’t just stop all of a sudden… _can it_?

In hindsight, it probably _should’ve_ struck her as weird how she just… spontaneously ‘ _imagined_ ’ an elaborate song and dance number. She doesn’t know music, and _Crazy_? _Textbook heart song_. It shouldn’t take a bemused Max asking her what the hell is going on for the strangeness of the situation to finally hit her, but it does. _She’s off her game._ Singing and dancing in real life for other people instead of seeing other people sing and dance in her own head, but she doesn’t even really have time to unpack _that_ with the pitch happening soon and the calendar glitch that needs sorting out ASAP.

Max, to his credit, _tries_ to help. He tries assuring her that what happened isn’t actually _that_ weird (it is; he definitely did _not_ see the worst of it) and tries to work out the _why_ this is happening so she doesn’t have to (it’s a valiant effort, but he’s just preoccupied enough to believe a pretty _terrible_ lie on her part, so that’s going nowhere) and tries to convince her that maybe this will be a one time thing (he might actually have had a bit of luck with that given time, but her mom interrupts with a call and she goes from worrying about whatever’s going on with her power to worrying about what’s going on with her dad instead, which she _equally_ does not have the time for). He tries and he tries and he tries, and to his credit, he doesn’t have to try _nearly_ so hard, but he does because he’s a good friend.

(She tries to ignore the voice in her head that says she doesn’t deserve such a good friend. It’s _right_ , but it’s also _so not helpful_ too.)

She just needs _one break_. Between the calendar glitch, pitching Danny Michael Davis, the news about her dad, and the possibility of her power malfunctioning, she’s stretched too thin. She’s not asking for much, really. Just for _one thing_ to go right today. _Just one._ One teeny little thing to make her crummy day just a little bit less so. _That isn’t a lot, is it?_

Besides, according to her SPRQ watch, it’s Christmas. _Get into the holiday spirit, Universe, and start giving instead of taking._

* * *

Truth be told, how chummy Leif and Joan are acting is actually beginning to creep her out. It’s not just the newfound lack of personal space or how they’ve started finishing each other’s sentences either. They’re just being so… so _couple-y_ that she can’t even really focus on anything but how _bizarre_ this all is.

 _What alternate universe did she wake up in again?_ Whatever it is, Zoey wants out. She’s not sure if she can take much more of this back-and-forth, dumb, punny banter between them. When she actually tries listening to it, it’s _sickening_.

“And then they will loudly ‘ _Chirp_ ’ their appreciation.”

_Gee, Leif. How long did **that** one take you to think of? All night?_

“Danny will probably call you a ‘ _Chirp_ ’ off the old block.”

_‘Old block?’ **Seriously?** What ‘old block,’ Joan?_

“We'll go to reception and have some ‘ _Chirps_ ’ and dip.”

_And **that’s** not even… well, actually, it **is** kind of funny, and she hates it. _

“I think you mean ‘ _Chirp_ ’ and ‘ _dirp_.’”

Somehow, _that’s_ the one to draw a real, proper laugh out of Leif, and without thinking she laughs along with him, loud and forced, ignoring the satisfaction that blooms in her chest when he stops and looks up at her, grinning. Her own smile is tight, eyes darting between him and Joan, who looks far less amused by the situation than he does.

“And then Zoey will chime in with her beautiful keynote, and let's see your work on the timeline.”

There’s something to be said about how Joan just gets right to business, pointing to the scrap paper on her tablet instead of saying anything about what just happened. She’d be _grateful_ if not for the fact that she _really_ hadn’t planned on Joan seeing it just yet. _Or at all._

“Oh, this? Um…” Zoey halters in response, fiddling with the edges of her tablet as she hesitates to hand it over.

“Can I see your keynote?” she asks again, more insistent this time.

“This was…” _For me. And it also doesn’t give you the six month timeline either. Please don’t ask for it. **Please don’t ask for it**._

“Yeah,” she repeats, gesturing once more for the paper. Joan’s _definitely_ not letting this one go.

 _Fuck_.

“…really just for me, but it's just a starting off.” Zoey sighs inaudibly before handing it over, avoiding looking at either of them as they look over it. _Too close. **Way too close**. Is it **really** necessary for them to be **that** close to each other?_

She tries to tune out the banter between them as they look over her notes. She tries to pretend she doesn’t hear the sickly sweet, overly friendly tone in their hushed voices and that she doesn’t notice how they move in closer and _closer_ and **closer**. She tries to ignore the bile rising in her throat and the unfamiliar yet completely irrational anger that she feels.

She _tries_ and she **fails** , and the longer she watches them the more she wishes she could leave to go hide in an isolation pod or something. _Anything_ to not have to keep looking at this because she’s starting to think she might’ve been _wrong_ , that Leif _is_ more of a bastard than she’d thought he was, and if that’s the case she’d rather not have it shoved in her face.

Whatever strange mix of emotions she’s feeling must show because when Joan’s done having her little _moment_ (and geez, even just _thinking_ that word makes her wanna _gag_ ) with Leif her expression shifts pretty quickly to one of concern.

“Zoey? Are you okay?”

 _ **No**. No she is not._ But she’d sooner kiss _Max_ than admit that to Joan, so she stays silent and tries not to think about how the world feels like it’s pressing in on her like a slow-motion zoom _._

_Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me  
Been an awful good girl  
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight_

The dread she feels when she starts singing again is sharp and intense, eyes wide (and somehow getting _wider_ ) as she realizes she _can’t stop_.

_No, no, no. **Not now**. Dear God, why now of all times?_

It doesn’t matter what she tries. Clamping her mouth shut only works for so long, the words building and _building_ and **building** in her throat until they can force their way out. Throwing her hand over her mouth doesn’t do anything to stop it either. It just muffles the sound of her humiliation.

And of course, to make matters worse, there’s no escaping it either. Zoey tries to make a quick exit, but her legs stop cooperating with her a few steps from the entryway, and she feels like a puppet on strings as they turn her around and take her back to Joan’s desk with some _serious_ spring.

( _Jesus, is she **prancing**? That doesn’t even match the song!_)

_Think of all the fun I've missed  
Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed_

As she sings, Zoey can’t help but think about how stopping herself from doing something embarrassing is going to be next to impossible. Hell, it might _already_ be impossible. Her body is moving pretty much of its own accord, executing whatever dance moves the universe has decided on to best humiliate her with, and she’s just struggling to keep up. She manages to stop herself mid reaching out to touch Leif’s lips on a particularly erm… _appropriate_ lyric, but she’s fighting a losing battle here.

_Next year, I could be just as good  
If you check off my Christmas list_

Dimly, in the parts of her brain that aren’t currently freaking out about the fact she can’t stop singing (even though she would very much _like_ to stop singing), she registers the looks of shock and horror on Joan and Leif’s faces at what they’re witnessing. The horror is definitely mirrored on her own, contrasted with the blatantly _seductive_ nature of the choreography the universe has decided to inflict on her.

 _She thinks she preferred the prancing over this._ Bizarre as it was, at least it wasn’t so obviously directed at Leif. Her power has given her hand a mind of its own, and that mind is clearly set on touching Leif through whatever means necessary. She’s grateful when he pulls away on his own, giving her the extra moment she needs to reign it back in on her own.

 _Maybe it’s done._ That’s probably (definitely) being a bit too optimistic about things, but she manages to gain enough control to slowly, cautiously back away from Joan’s desk and out the side entrance that it gives her a sliver of hope that maybe she’s done humiliating herself. _Maybe it’s done and she can hide in an isolation pod until she absolutely **has** to face either of them when they pitch Danny Michael Davis and then go back to hiding in an isolation pod again._

_Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not a lot  
Been an angel all year  
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight_

_**It is not done.** _

As soon as she’s gone from the office she finds herself circling right back, singing the next verse as she runs back into the office. Or. _Tries_ to run back into it anyway. Zoey manages to stop herself at the entryway, fighting with her own body to keep from moving back into the office.

 _God, she must look like a crazy person._ Hell, she _**feels**_ like a crazy person right now, fighting against the inevitable instead of just letting it happen and dealing with the fallout later. _Is she going to look any less crazy to them if she spends the whole time fighting the choreography than by actually **doing** it?_

_…probably not._

_Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex and checks  
Sign your "X" on the line  
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight  
Hurry down the chimney tonight  
Hurry… tonight_

When she finally stumbles back into Joan’s office, there’s a sense of relief mixed with the mortification. _It’s almost over._ Sure, the campy but seductive choreo is taking embarrassment to a whole new level, and the odds of her living this down anytime soon are pretty much zero, but she can practically _feel_ the big finish coming any second now. The end is in sight.

Granted, she’s going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do since that ‘ _big finish_ ’ took her right up to the desk and then some, leaning in _far_ too close to be considered appropriate as she finishes the song staring directly at dazed ( _and quite possibly_ _**disturbed**?_) Leif.

_Oh, God, what has she done?_

Zoey’s eyes dart between Leif and Joan in a panic, taking in the former’s… what is it, confusion? _anger?_ … _ **constipation?**_ (she’s not even being **mean** , he _does_ look a little constipated, and it’d be _funny_ if not for the circumstances) and the latter’s annoyance, exasperation, and anger (Joan’s pretty easy to read, actually, and she really just looks _angry_ which Zoey can’t exactly _blame_ her for) and shuffling back a few steps in response. _Casual. She just needs to play it **casual**._ Which means no more looking terrified out of her wits.

“Are you high?”

_Oh, how she wishes. It’d be less embarrassing that way._

“Just high on life and this fantastic presentation. Whoo!” Zoey _knows_ she’s overcompensating with the cheesy grin and enthusiasm. She also knows she’s not fooling _either_ of them with it, so she drops it pretty quickly, her brain working overtime to come up with a good explanation for whatever _that_ was. _C’mon, Zoey, think_. She sang ‘ _Santa Baby_.’ That’s a Christmas song. There’s _got_ to be something there. Something with the calendar glitch, maybe? _If she can just make it up as she goes..._ “Oh, you know, um… uh… it's just how a song gets stuck in your head and, you know, the calendar thing with the SPRQPoint watch… um… turning everything into Christmas. Um… _that's_ why I was singing the song, because of the watch and… because of Christmas.”

_…did they buy it?_

“Do you understand how important this pitch is?” Leif asks, overcoming whatever speechlessness had taken over him because of her song, and he has the nerve to look _irritated_ with her. Like she hasn’t had to watch him be absolutely nauseatingly _friendly_ with their boss while asking her to do the impossible. _The least he could do is accept her flimsy excuse._

“Totally,” she replies, selling the answer with some finger guns and a nervous smile.

“Listen…” Joan’s face is an odd mix of skeptical and curious as she stands, inhaling sharply like she’s considering her next words very carefully. _Uh oh._ “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Oh, no, I don't think so,” she says, just a bit too quickly to be believable. _No more hospitals. **Please**._

“Okay. Then this is not the day for any Zoey shenanigans.”

_Well at least she’s not asking for a different explanation. That’s a good thing… right?_

“Couldn't agree with you more.” _Can she leave now? She’d really like to leave now. ‘No Zoey shenanigans’ is a good segue for bailing, right?_ “So, um, do I normally have ‘ _Zoey shenanigans?_ ’”

_It’s not like she goes around singing and dancing **every** day…_

“Can you schedule your nervous breakdown for another day?” Joan asks, and the _too polite_ smile tells Zoey everything she needs to know.

“Yep, consider it rescheduled.” She punctuates it with a mock salute, grabbing her tablet from the chair and leaving them with a cheery, cheesy smile.

* * *

“ _ **It happened again.**_ ”

Max is busy getting a bowl of cereal when she starts venting without preamble, so she should probably expect the delay in him understanding what’s going on.

“ _What_ happened again?” he asks.

Just because she _should_ expect it doesn’t mean it doesn’t annoy her, watching the gears slowly turn in his mind, though. So with a long suffering sigh and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she clarifies, “I just sang another song, _out loud_ , to Joan and Leif who now think I’m on drugs.”

_There. That should do it._

“Well, _are you_?”

And… _that_ is not the answer she’d been expecting. _So much for having her best friend’s support_.

“ _ **Max!**_ ” she chides, looking at him incredulously, and it seems to do the trick because he at least looks a _little bit_ guilty for asking a question that he should _know_ the answer to.

“ _What?_ I’m just _asking_ ,” he says, and they _really_ don’t have the time to unpack why he’s even _considering_ it as an option, but… _**later**_.

“The worst part is I couldn’t stop it from happening. Every time I tried to leave I just kept circling back like some… _demented caroler_.” Zoey shudders, remembering how again and again, the choreography had taken her towards Leif. _She’s screwed if either of them looks even just a little bit past the absolute insanity of her singing in the first place._ She could’ve held up a neon sign saying ‘ _I slept with Leif_ ’ and it’d _still_ be less obvious than whatever that was. “What if it happens again?”

“Well, there’s always a career as one of Santa’s _elves…_ ”

Zoey’s not sure how Max can be so _cavalier_ about it when she’s _obviously_ in the middle of a crisis, but she’s about two seconds away from smacking him if he doesn’t **stop** being _glib_ and _start_ being **helpful**.

“ _Max—_ ”

She’s about to tell him so herself when Tobin decides to interrupt, all swagger and smiles and carrying a _concerningly_ large bowl of Fruit Loops. _Where’d he get that and could he possibly score an extra one for her? ‘Cause eating her feelings sure sounds like a **really** fantastic idea right about now…_

“Oh, what's that? Are you guys talking about how Tobin fixed the glitch?” he asks, and she’d be concerned about him referring to himself in the third person if she a) wasn’t worried about _far_ more pressing things at the moment and b) immediately relieved by the knowledge that he’d solved the calendar glitch. _One less problem to worry about._ “'Cause I did it, son. _Boom_.”

“That's _great_. Thank you, Tobin,” she says, and though the half-hearted smile and beat down tone don’t show it, she actually _is_ grateful to have one less thing on her plate that she didn’t have to take care of herself.

“However,” _Oh no._ “Much like in life, in solving one problem, I've now created another. July 4th is no longer on July 4th.” That’s… confusing. And not great. _So much for one less problem._ “It's complicated, but I'm on it. _I'm in it._ _**Do not be afraid**_.”

He backs away from them with the same nervous smile and finger guns she’d given Joan and Leif a few minutes earlier, which… doesn’t exactly do _wonders_ for her confidence, but Tobin’s latest calendar glitch is the least of her problems right now.

There’s an awkward silence for a few moments when he’s gone, and Zoey fidgets as she waits for Max to break the silence with at least _some_ insight on how to fix her heart song problem. _Anytime now, buddy…_

“Look, maybe you're just stressed out and stress is what's causing your powers to glitch.” _Stress?_ If it’s _stress_ causing the glitch, she’s pretty much _screwed_. There’s pretty much _no chance_ of her being any less stressed before the day’s end. _It’s got to be something else. **It has to**._ “We just— we need to figure out why.”

_Well, gee. Thank you, Captain Obvious._

“Okay, well, uh, normally when I hear someone sing to me, I try to help them with something that's going on in their life, so…”

_C’mon, Max. Waiting on your words of wisdom here._

“Okay, so… maybe you need to help _yourself_.”

 _…oh_. _**Ugh**. _Help _herself? What kind of garbage advice is that?_ Max has the nerve to look _proud_ of himself after that too, walking away from her with his cereal like he’d _totally_ just solved her problem for her.

“And how do I do that? Because helping _myself_ would mean taking a _vacation_ from SPRQPoint or… _curing_ my father's disease, and both of those… seem like problems I can't _exactly_ solve right now.” She’s mostly ranting at this point, and while she catches the way Max rolls his eyes at her in a brief glance over to him (and he better not think they weren’t going to have words about that, because they _were_ , later, when pressing issues weren’t quite so _pressing_ ), she doesn’t even notice Simon until she almost runs into him on the stairs.

“Hey.” _Is that a **good** ‘hey’ or a **bad** ‘hey?’_ She’s probably overthinking it because he turns to Max almost immediately after and gives him the same greeting. “Hey.”

_**Neutral** ‘hey,’ maybe?_

“Hey,” Max replies, taking the opportunity to duck to his desk like the traitor he is. Zoey considers for a moment following after him, but Simon blocks her way, looking at her intently.

_Oh no. Bad talk? Was she going to have to hash out her word vomit from earlier? Because she didn’t have the time **or** the energy right now, so—_

“How was the doctor's office?”

_Oh. Not a bad talk. Just good ol’, friendly concern. That’s… nice._

“Uh…” _God, how is she supposed to tell him what she can’t even face herself?_ “Same old, same old, you know? ‘ _Open your mouth._ ’ ‘ _Here's a lollipop._ ’ Blah-blah-blah.”

She can tell that Simon doesn’t look all that convinced, but before he can press for more information his phone vibrates, prompting him to check it. Zoey starts to use it as a chance for a quick getaway to avoid the awkward, concerned conversation she can feel coming, but Simon stops her quickly.

“Zoey, Danny's here. His helicopter just landed.”

_Oh, fuck._

“No.”

“Mm-hmm.”

 _Fuck_.

“ _No!_ ” If she sounds desperate, it’s because she _is_. _He can’t be here yet._ If Danny Michael Davis is here, then that means she’s out of time, and _**she needs more time**. Desperately._ “I need more time. I have _no_ idea how to make these numbers work yet.”

Joan and Leif asked for six months, and while it’s starting to look a lot closer to twice that, she might at _least_ be able to make it… _not_ look like that.

“Well… let me try to stall him for a bit, maybe give him a tour of the new rooftop garden,” he offers, and that’s… _something_. How long does that buy her? Thirty minutes? An hour? It can’t be _that_ long, but she’ll take what she can get.

“You would do that for me?” she asks.

“Sure.” He says it like it’s no trouble at all (which is ridiculous because Zoey knows it’s a _lot_ of trouble, especially after… _everything_ ), and it brings a grateful smile to her lips. “And if that doesn't help, I'll pull the fire alarm.”

That manages to draw out the first genuine laugh she’s had since her dad’s appointment, and as she watches Simon walk away to quite possibly save her ass, she feels like she hasn’t done _nearly_ enough to thank him. Even the quick, “Bless you,” she calls out to him feels inadequate, but she doesn’t have time to worry about that right now.

_She had a timeline to work out._

* * *

She gets about thirty minutes of uninterrupted, frantic typing away at her laptop in an isolation pod before anyone bothers her. (Which, for today, should probably be marked down as some sort of _record_. _**Thirty minutes since last nonsense**._ _Somebody_ in the office must have a chalkboard laying around _somewhere_.)

On its own, the interruption isn’t exactly the worst thing that could happen. Her timeline is looking… _better_. It’s still not anywhere close to being _good_ , but if Danny Michael Davis doesn’t look too closely and they dazzle him enough with the pitch, it might not _matter_.

“Ho ho ho. Merry Christmas.”

 _Unfortunately for her, the nuisance in question just so happens to be **Leif**._ Leif, who has absolutely _no_ business looking as smug as he does, and she’d be tempted to smack him if she didn’t value the computer in her lap _far_ more than the satisfaction of seeing his ego put in check.

“Leif, _please_ don't bother me. I'm trying to finish this,” she says, working very hard to hide the irritation (and _dread_ , she’s definitely feeling a little bit of _**dread**_ ) in her voice and keep her tone measured and even.

“No, this will only take a moment.” _Oh no_. _Oh **fuck** no_. Even though he's only just started speaking, there's an unreadable… _something_ in his tone. Not the smugness that makes her bully Leif instinct go straight to 1000, but… nervousness, maybe? _Whatever it is, it can't be good._ “I'm just… _so curious_ … about that song you sang to me and Joan earlier, 'cause… you know, um… it didn't really seem like a song that just got _stuck in your head_. It seemed more like… I don't know… like a _confession_.”

_And the award goes to…_

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quickly, dropping eye contact to look back at her laptop and after a long, drawn-out moment (at least to her), type out another half-sentence. _Ugh. So much for **productivity**. _

_How is she supposed to concentrate on **anything** with him looking at her like that, anyway?_

Maybe if she plays dumb for long enough, he'll drop it. Half of the fun for him was in the arguing itself, so if she could shut _that_ down, then there'd be no point in continuing to bother her… _right?_ It's got to be worth a try, because she is _so_ not having this conversation.

“ _Zoey_ …” The way he says her name — a mixture of smugness and condescension and amusement that has her genuinely reconsidering if she values her laptop _that much_ (she still does, but _God_ the urge to hit him is **tempting** ) — only makes the pit in her stomach grow. _This can’t be good_. Whatever weirdness she’d heard in his voice earlier is gone now, which can only mean... “If you wanted to tell Joan that we _kissed_ , you could’ve picked a more subtle way of doing it than _singing_ about it.”

...and _there it is_. He’d called her bluff. Almost like her denial was _exactly_ the thing he’d been waiting for.

_God, would it **kill** him to be just a **little** less two-faced?_

“Oh, so you think that was about _you_?” she asks, turning back to Leif with a defiant look in her eyes.

He’s not going to drop it now — not now that he’s gotten the argument he’d been hoping for — but she’d sooner ask _Glen_ for coding help before she admits that he’s right, and what happened in Joan’s office had, unfortunately, _everything_ to do with him.

“I _know_ it was about me.” _God, she hates that she’s not sure if she wants to punch or kiss the smirk off his face when he says that._ It _should_ be the former. After everything, she should _**not**_ still want to kiss him. _And yet…_ “I just want to hear you say it.”

‘ _I just want to hear you say it._ ’ Of _course_ he does. Because it’s not enough for him to have witnessed the humiliation firsthand. He wants to hear _her_ say it. _To make it real._

Like his ego isn’t big enough already.

“ _It wasn’t about you_ ,” she replies stubbornly, the lie coming out easily for once. He might be _right_ , but that doesn’t mean she’s going to give him the satisfaction of _admitting_ it.

“ _Liar_.” The sing-songy way that he says it, so smug and sure (and _**right**_ her brain oh-so- _un_ helpfully supplies for her) of himself only makes her want to punch him more, but on the plus side, it also makes lying again that much easier.

“ _ **It wasn’t about you**_ ,” she repeats, more insistently this time. “And I don’t want _anyone_ knowing about us… _kissing_. Joan _especially_.”

“Hmm.” It’s a short response. Dismissive. _Like he doesn’t believe her_. Maybe it shouldn’t bother her as much as it does (or… _at all_ ) when she **is** , in fact, lying to him, but she gets the distinct feeling he’s not _just_ questioning her denial that it was about him, but that she doesn’t **want** anyone to know about them either.

_Seriously, haven’t they been over this already?_

“ _Why_ would I want Joan to know about us?”

“You know, _that_ … is an excellent question,” he starts, and Zoey can already tell she doesn’t like where this is going. This is more than just smugness. This is… “I’m curious to know the answer to that myself.”

 _He’s toying with her_.

Humiliation and anger **flush** in her cheeks with the realization, and in one quick motion she snaps her laptop shut and turns to face Leif, legs hanging out of the isolation pod. “Is this a _game_ to you? Did you just wake up one day and think, ‘ _Oh, you know what sounds like fun? Screwing **both** my bosses!_’?”

“Zoey—” The smugness is gone from his voice, replaced by what sounds a lot like _confusion_. _**Great**. As if she needed **more** questions_.

“You know, I have a lot of work to do, and I’d really appreciate it if you let me finish it.”

For a moment (one magical, _glorious_ moment), that seems to shut him up. Zoey very nearly even breathes a sigh of relief, watching his mouth open and then shut and then open again with a (much more _deserved_ ) sense of satisfaction before redirecting her attention back to her laptop. _Finally_ , she could—

“…you’re jealous.”

 _…and_ just like that her head snaps back up, meeting his gaze and finding that the disbelief she’s been so relieved to see has been replaced with realization.

He’s **wrong** , of course. Completely, totally, absolutely, one-hundred percent **wrong** , which is why she retorts with a quick ~~and panicked~~ , “ _…shut up._ ”

(It’s a total coincidence that it sounds _exactly_ like her previous denial too. Y’know, the one that was a bald-faced _lie_.)

“You’re _**jealous**_!” he repeats, even more insistently this time, and she wants to groan. She doesn’t have the _time_ to have this argument, again.

“ _I. Am. **Not**. Jealous_,” she says, slowly, like spacing the words out more will drive her point home better.

“ _Sure you aren’t._ ” _She isn’t!_ She wants to scream at him. Hit him with the words over and over until they get through his thick, _stubborn_ skull, but the grin he says it with falls quickly, replaced with a more serious expression that she doesn’t _entirely_ understand. “I’m not sleeping with Joan. And I’m not trying to either.”

The honesty in his voice doesn’t fill her with a sense of relief. Sleeping with Joan. Not sleeping with Joan. _It doesn’t matter, and she doesn’t care_. They’re not together just because they had sex _once_ (or… well… on one _occasion_ if you wanted to get _technical_ about it).

“ _ **Great**_ ,” she says, tone clipped, resisting the rather large urge to roll her eyes. _Were they done yet? Because she’d **really** like to make use of the time Simon’s distraction was buying her before it was gone._ “Are you done being insufferable now? Danny is gonna be here any minute, and I…”

“Danny Michael Davis is here! _Danny Michael Davis is here_. **Danny Michael Davis is here**.”

Tobin’s voice (and feet) echo loudly through the fourth floor as he herald’s their CEO’s arrival, and she can feel her heart sink even further as she looks down at her closed laptop, remembering her still unfinished timeline.

“Great.”

Is it a _good_ thing that Leif sounds as enthused by the news as she feels?

“ _Great_.”

 _…yeah_. Probably not.

 _This was going to be a disaster_.

* * *

“I am _so_ fired,” she groans, the carpet muffling her voice only slightly. “I’m **worse** than fired. _I’m dead_.”

Joan was gonna kill her. Any second now Joan was gonna call her into her office and commit corporate sanctioned murder.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a _little_ dramatic?” Max asks, and sure, he’s being _sensible_ , but that doesn’t make it _helpful_ , so Zoey picks her head up to glare at him.

“I _humiliated_ myself. I didn’t just sing and dance like a crazy person in front of _Joan_. I did it in front of _the CEO of our company_.” _And Joan. **Again**_. Which, when she thinks about it, is _definitely_ worse than their crazy CEO thinking she’s _weird_. _What does he know, anyway? It’s not like she’s any **weirder** than he is on any given day, even with her power._ “Now he’s gonna actually _read_ the timeline and see that the Chirp is going to take a year and not give us the funding and _have I mentioned Joan’s going to kill me?_ ”

_Because she was. Going to kill her, that is._

“It might’ve come up already,” he says, flippantly, and that gets another glare out of her. “…just saying.”

“ _This is terrible_. If I don't find a way to stop singing, things are gonna get _real bad_ ,” she replies, finally shifting up off of her stomach and onto her knees.

“ _Get_ real bad?” _Well, gee, Max, you don’t have to be **rude** about it_. “Okay, let's just work through this thing like we're debugging a program, line by line. What makes this day different from any other?”

“I am… constantly humiliating myself through song?”

As far as stabs in the dark go, it’s pretty vague and not really all that helpful. She’s moping. She’s allowed.

“Okay, sure, but starting when?” he presses, and the flippant attitude she’d been getting from him earlier is gone now, replaced with a more supportive Max that actually has her _wanting_ to cooperate.

“…this morning.”

“ _When_ this morning?”

_Alright, she could see where this was going._

“On… the way back from my father's doctor's appointment.” Zoey frowns when she finishes the thought, disappointment settling into her chest.

_Of **course** it would have to be something to do with her dad. It couldn’t just be something she can actually **fix**. That’d be **too easy** for her._

“ _Okay_. Did something happen there?” he asks, and there’s another shift in his face (probably unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t know him like she does) where concern turns to understanding, but he doesn’t press any further.

“ _Nothing worth talking about_ ,” she deflects quickly, moving to the swings to avoid looking at him. She can hear him follow her, faintly, and she avoids meeting his eyes until after he’s already settled into the chair across from her. _Please don’t ask any questions. **Please** don’t ask any questions_. “What really matters is you saved me in there. So, whatever happens, whether I get fired or killed by Joan, you're a very good friend.”

“ _You're_ just lucky I grew up with ‘ _Billy Joel's Greatest Hits, Volumes One and Two_.’ It's kind of a rite of passage for every East Coast Jewish boy, like going to summer camp and not playing for the Knicks.”

 _Good ol’ Max, coming through with the self-deprecating humor and not asking questions._ Zoey thinks she manages a slight, grateful smile for that.

“Still. _No one else_ would have done that for me.” _Certainly not Leif, who, one minute, was flirting obnoxiously with Joan and hanging her out to dry, and the next, was looking at her with weirdly sincere puppy eyes and insisting there **wasn’t** anything going on with Joan_. “And I guess I just want you to know…”

For the first time since she’d burst into an impromptu rendition of _Crazy_ in the SPRQPoint lobby, she doesn’t notice the heartsong as it happens. She doesn’t fight it. The flow from swings to ping pong table is as seamless as a normal conversation with him would've been, maybe _more-so_ , and there’s no undercurrent of terror as she dances around their own little corner of the fourth floor, playful and friendly with every move.

When she finally finishes the song, giggling and leaning against Max’s shoulder, she feels… _lighter_. Not even just _lighter_ , she feels more **relaxed** than she has since this morning, so for a moment, she just lets herself _enjoy_ it.

“…hey, Zo?” Max’s voice is soft in her ears, light and tentative, and it doesn’t quite break the spell of the heart song still lingering in the air, holding back the reality of real life and all its problems for her.

“Yeah?” she asks, not bothering to move her head from where it rests against his shoulder. It’s a pretty comfortable mostly-silence, she thinks. Easy to bury herself in and pretend nothing is wrong. _As long as Max doesn’t ask about—_

“…you just sang me a song.”

 _Shit_. Well, it could probably be **worse**.

“ _Right_.” Reluctantly, Zoey pulls herself away from Max, chewing on her bottom lip as she mulls over what to say next. Max is reasonable… _right_? Like, she could _totally_ get him to drop this by playing her cards right… _right_? “Um… can we **not** make a big deal about it?”

“Make a big deal about what? The fact that you know Taylor Swift, or how you’re ‘ _only you when you’re with me_ ’?” His grin is teasing, and maybe she should be _grateful_ that this is where he’s going with it instead of some sort of deep dive into her psyche, but she’s _tired_ , and she mostly just wants to enjoy what time she has left before she gets added to Joan’s figurative (and potentially _literal_ ) body count. It’s not like it’s _that_ big of a deal, anyways. Max is her friend. She sang a grateful friend song. “Because I’m _flattered_ , but—”

Zoey watches as Max’s expression shifts, an unusual _seriousness_ slipping into the teasing grin, and it takes a minute for the reason _why_ to sink in. _What does he even—? Oh. **Oh!** _

_Ew._

“Not like _that_ you perv!” she says, shoving him away playfully and rolling her eyes. “And _everyone_ knows Taylor Swift.”

“ _ **Perv?**_ ” Max has the gall to act _faux-offended_ like he isn’t the one who totally started it in the first place, and she’s tempted to stick her tongue out at him in retaliation. She doesn’t, though. _Because she’s a mature adult who’s better than that._ “I was just going to say that I think the song’s _inaccurate_. You’re _you_ plenty of other times too.”

“… _uh-huh_ ,” she replies flatly, eyes narrowed at him as she nods skeptically. ‘ _Inaccurate_.’ Yeah. That’s _totally_ where he was going with that. _**Sure, Jan.**_

“ _Seriously!_ ” he says, grinning and laughing when her expression doesn’t change. “I’m disappointed in you, Zoey. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“ _My_ mind?” _Oh, he did **not** just go there._

“Yeah. _Your_ mind,” he repeats, somehow keeping a straight face through it all.

“Why you little—”

“ _Ooh_ , what are you gonna do, _sing at me_?” Max waggles his eyebrows with the retort, and in all honesty, it is _kinda_ funny. She refuses to give him the satisfaction of actually _laughing_ , though, so she flounders for a moment, not sure what to do until she spots one of the ping-pong paddles. _Jackpot_. In a lightning fast move she grabs it and _thwacks!_ Max in the shoulder, but instead of deterring him, he just _laughs_. _The bastard_.

_This meant war._

She’s not really sure how long they play-fight without interruption, giggling and swatting half-heartedly at each other with the ping-pong paddles, but it’s a nice reprieve until it isn’t, Leif’s voice interrupting their goofy little bubble.

“Joan would like to see both of you right away.” His voice is curt, bringing her back down to reality, and she pulls away from Max immediately while they sink in. _Shit._ **Joan**. “It's probably nothing to worry about, unless you're worried about getting fired or…”

Leif turns and walks away before either of them can respond, his jaw drawn tight and an unreadable _something_ in his eyes that would probably pique her interest more if she were a bit less preoccupied with her imminent demise. _What’s **his** deal, anyway?_

* * *

So the _good_ news is she’s not dead. _Or fired_. The **bad** news is that Joan is royally (and _rightfully_ ) pissed off at her, Tobin’s attempts at fixing _one_ glitch in the SPRQ watch have only led to _even more glitches_ , Max is being _absolutely_ insufferable about a heart song that doesn’t really _mean_ anything he didn’t already know, and her mom _**won’t stop calling her**_.

(Okay, so maybe the Max bit isn’t exactly “ _bad_ ” news. It’s still annoying, though.)

It’s just all too much for her, and she needs to breathe. _Just for a minute_. Just one minute to herself with no glitch and no Max and no mom because if she _**doesn’t**_ get that one minute? _She’s pretty sure she’s going to implode_.

 _What was Simon’s technique again? ‘Be still and take ten deep breaths?’_ _**She can do that**_. _How hard could it be? They’ve got a meditation room **right there**_.

She throws herself against the glass wall inside without looking around, eyes screwed shut when she starts the process of trying to calm down. _**One** … _Okay. She’s **not** feeling any more relaxed yet. _**Two**_ … And… _nope_. Still not relaxed. _Maybe she should be taking deeper breaths?_ _**Three**_ … That’s… _better?_ Okay. Not really _better_ , but she’s not exactly ready to admit **defeat** here, and—

“ _You’re not fired._ ” Leif’s voice startles her eyes open and she jumps, staring at where he’s sitting across the room with his legs folded up against his chest (and Jesus _Christ_ who let his legs be that long, anyway? he’s like a frickin’ _accordion_ ). To his credit, he doesn’t _laugh_ at her for her reaction. Mostly he just looks… _surprised? **Happy?**_

 _That_ doesn’t make any sense.

“…well, there’s no need to sound so _disappointed_ ,” she retorts, considering, for a moment, just turning around and walking out. For some reason, though, she can’t bring herself to run away just yet, so she instead walks over to the cushion across from him, ignoring the pit in her stomach at how she’s treating him (she’s being **unfair** , she _knows_ , but she’s still a little bit bitter about whatever the hell that Joan thing was) as she pulls off her shoes.

“Why would I be disappointed?” he asks, and he looks so _sincere_ about it that she almost feels bad for the deadpan look she gives him right back. ( _Does he **really** need to ask that? After **everything**?_) Only _almost_ , though, and it gets the message across well enough because his face falls, slightly, and she absolutely does **not** feel a tiny wrenching in her gut at that either. “… _right_. You uh… you come here often?”

…okay, _that_ she was not expecting. _That_ actually manages to draw an incredulous laugh out of her that quickly turns into a fit of giggles that she tries to hide in the crook of her elbow.

“ _Wow_.”

The laughing hasn’t quite subsided yet when she finally pulls her head out of her arm, but the steely look she’s been giving him is replaced with a smile (a real, _genuine_ smile), finding his eyebrows drawn and a similar, albeit _confused_ smile on his own lips.

“ _What?_ ” he asks, and the little _crack_ in his voice doesn’t suddenly endear him to her more or anything ( _that’s a lie_ , a more honest part of her brain admits), but it does manage to draw a final chuckle out of her.

“You just used _that_ line,” she says, and it must click for him because suddenly she’d swear his cheeks have gone _redder_.

“It’s not a _line_.” This time, the pointed look she gives him is a lot softer. “…okay, so maybe it’s a _little_ bit of a line.”

“ _ **Uh-huh**_ ,” she replies, voice _dripping_ with sarcasm, but neither of them lasts very long before bursting into another fit of giggles. _God, this is nice._ She’d _missed_ the easy camaraderie they’d developed over their weekend working on the Chirp.

When the laughs fade, they sit in silence for a moment, looking at each other with soft smiles, and Simon’s technique might not have worked too well for her (she’s not sure if she even has the heart to tell him), but suddenly all her problems feel a lot less _problem-y_ , so that’s gotta be some kind of win.

“I’m glad you’re not fired.” Leif’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks, sincere but timid in breaking the silence, like he’s waiting for another snappy remark from her.

_Maybe she deserves that._

“ _I’m_ glad I’m not fired,” she says, and it seems to be enough to break the tension because they both laugh again, settling back into that comfortable camaraderie.

Zoey doesn’t really know what to say after that, so she doesn’t say anything at all, instead bringing her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knee to mirror Leif. The silence that happens again is… well, it’s _nice_ , and she feels _relaxed_ , but it also feels a little bit like a _waste_ , being in the meditation room and not actually meditating.

( _Maybe she should give that technique another go._ _Be still and take ten deep breaths._ _She could handle that. Was she supposed to close her eyes too? Well, it probably wouldn’t **hurt**_ …)

 _ **One**_ … Zoey’s not sure she feels any _different_ this time around, but she’s not feeling any **worse** either. _**Two**_ … The urge to open her eyes comes out of nowhere, and when she does, she’s surprised to find that Leif’s haven’t left her, watching her with a tenderness that doesn’t dissipate even though he clearly registers that she’s looking _back_. _**Three**_ … She doesn’t notice the first chords of music that start to play in the silence, and she can’t quite explain the feeling that swirls in her stomach as they continue to stare at each other, but it’s like… like swimming in an icy blue ocean and somehow feeling completely safe. Dangerous and inviting all at once1.

 _Damn_. Meditating made her _weirdly_ poetic.

She’s about to take her fourth breath when the music gets too loud to ignore, and that breaks the spell of whatever friendly _moment_ she’s having with Leif. _No. No no no no no. Not right now._

“Are you okay?” Leif sounds and looks concerned, and it dawns on her belatedly that she just said all that _out loud_ which is uh… about as _**not good**_ as whatever the hell is about to come out of her mouth.

“Uh…” Her arms feel itchy with the impending heart song, and she fidgets in a fruitless attempt to hold it back. She needs an escape. Or an excuse. _Something_ , because she’d actually really like to **not** ruin the moment they’d been having by singing something angry or bitter about earlier. “I’m _really_ sorry for what’s about to happen. I feel like we were kind of having a moment, just now, so if this ruins it…”

“I don’t know what that—”

_I want you to want me_

“…means,” he finishes, and if she weren’t currently mid-heart song, she’d probably find the way he flounders after finishing his train of thought _funny_.

_I need you to need me  
I’d love you to love me  
I’m begging you to beg me_

It doesn’t feel nearly as _weird_ as it should, crawling across the meditation room to bring herself to where Leif is sitting, and she doesn’t feel nearly as _ridiculous_ as she should either, sliding the last little bit so she’s laying down at his feet. With the last heart song she sang to him, she’d been eerily aware of _everything_ her body was doing, fighting it with no success while knowing exactly how **wrong** everything she was doing felt. This time, besides feeling it come on… it doesn’t feel any different than _Max’s_.

_I’ll shine up the old brown shoes, I’ll put on a brand new shirt  
I’ll get home early from work if you say that you love me_

She pushes herself up off the floor in one fluid motion, looking up at a stunned Leif with a playful smile and inching closer and closer to him as she sings. Or at least, she _tries_ to. Each little movement towards him has him leaning further and further back, a guarded expression replacing his confusion little by little.

_Didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?  
Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?_

This time, it’s Leif who tries to make an escape, standing and walking around her quickly, but slowing on his approach to the door of the meditation room, and whether it’s _her_ heart song affecting _him_ this time (wouldn’t _that_ be some poetic justice?) or something else, she takes advantage, bracing herself on the platform and dancing her own path toward the door.

She’s not sure what makes him stop to look down at her, but it’s timed perfectly to her resting her head on her hand and looking up at him, the playfulness from before replaced with a softer, more understanding look.

_Feelin’ all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin’  
Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?_

Zoey wouldn’t really know how to read the look on Leif’s face when she steps in front of him even if she _weren’t_ lost in a heart song, but if pressed to guess, she’d label it as… _hesitance?_ What it is probably doesn’t matter, he’s in this until the end just like she is, and when she brings her hand up to turn his face toward her, she can’t help how it wanders, drifting up to trail across the scar in his eyebrow.

Instead of flying open this time, his eyes flutter shut, the reluctance melting away from his body, and her fingertips drift back down again, running over his jawline and his lips and even his collarbone before settling flat on his chest.

_I want you to want me  
I need you to need me  
I’d love you to love me  
I’m begging you to beg me_

He doesn’t fight her as she pushes him back into the room. He doesn’t fight her as her hands push on his shoulders, prompting him down to his knees so she’s finally taller than him. He doesn’t fight her as she settles into his lap either, guiding his face back towards her with her hand as she leans in. She’s not sure if it’s to kiss him because the song ends before then, Leif’s hands on her hips pulling her up off of him and breaking the spell.

_Oh, God._

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, breathing heavily as the reality of what just happened hits her all at once. “That was… um…”

 _What even **was** all of that, actually?_ Zoey doesn’t even know where to _begin_ unpacking that heart song because it’s definitely _not_ the kind she’d been expecting, and Leif’s _reaction_ to it is… She doesn’t even know where to start with _that_ , especially since once her breathing is finally back under control enough to risk a look at him she notices him looking behind her and _fuck_.

 _ **Max**_.

Max, who she not only _didn’t tell_ about her hookup with Leif, but actively _lied to_ about it. Because of course, nothing could make her already crazy day even **better** like her best friend looking at her like she’d just kicked his puppy and told him that _Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home_ is the **worst** Trek movie.

“Max?”

_God, how much of that had he even **heard**?_

“I had a programming question, but I didn’t want to interrupt your _song_ , so…”

_**Way** too much of that, clearly._

“Max, _wait_ , just—” Zoey tries to ignore how her heart sinks at the disappointment on his face as he turns away from her, swearing as the door closes and turning around frantically to grab for her shoes.

Leif looks… well, honestly he kinda looks like she just destroyed any and all brain function he might’ve had, and instead of the smugness that _should_ give her, she just feels **guilty** about the fact that she has to leave him here without any sort of explanation about what the hell just happened.

Not that she has one right now, but she’d make one up on the fly. _Hopefully_.

“Uh… I’m really sorry. Just know, it’s not _me_. It’s… my body.”

_That was good enough for now… **right**?_

* * *

When she finally finds Max, he’s fuming on the bench outside the bathroom, ignoring her approach even though she’s definitely **not** being quiet.

_She probably deserves that._

“Can we talk?” she asks, and though it doesn’t really matter _what_ his answer is here, she’s _really_ hoping the answer will be yes.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, shaking his head subtly, and maybe she should’ve been _expecting_ that reaction (she **definitely** should’ve), but it still hurts to watch him get up and walk away from her.

_If he thinks she’s not going to follow him just because it’s the **men’s** restroom, he’s got another thing coming._

“ _Max_ —”

“ _What_ , Zoey? What’s the reason you couldn’t tell me, your _best friend_ , about hooking up with… with _Leif_ of all people?” Zoey’s pretty sure that’s **not** a rhetorical question, but when she opens her mouth to answer it, nothing comes out, so Max takes the opportunity to continue. “Because I am _trying_ to wrap my head around how you could keep something like this from me — around _why_ you would keep something like this from me — and I’m coming up empty.”

 _ **Shame**_. That’s the simplest answer to Max’s questions, but it’s not the one she gives him. Instead of the guilt that she’s _expecting_ to swirl in her gut, she just feels **angry**. _So she’d lied to him_. Yeah, it was _shitty_ , but he makes it sound like… like she was _obligated_ to tell him about it or something. Just because she _should have_ didn’t mean she _had to_.

“You’re not my _keeper_ , Max. I don’t have to send you a memo every time I have sex with someone,” she retorts, crossing her arms, and it’s _**definitely**_ not helping in her whole _make-up-with-Max_ endeavor, but the anger is cathartic in its own right.

“Leif isn’t just _someone_. You haven’t stopped talking about what a selfish, two-faced _jerk_ he is since you got your power.” _That_ … was true. _**Very true**_. It was also a _very **big**_ factor of why she hadn’t told him yet. Why she probably wasn’t _ever_ going to tell him, actually, if she was being honest. _So Max got it._ That didn’t explain why he was still **mad** at her about it. “ _You hate him._ You’ve plotted his murder. Hell, I’ve **helped** you plot his murder, and now you’re singing _love songs_ to him?”

Oh. Oh, whoa, whoa, _whoa_. _**Whoa**_. Back it the fuck up. Rewind. _Take it back and never say it again_ because seriously… _what the fuck?_ She did **not** sing _Leif Donnelly_ a love song. Sure, the word ‘ _love_ ’ may have been in there once or twice ( **five** times, really, if you wanted to get _technical_ about it), but that didn’t make it a _love song_.

“That is _not_ …” A love song? _Seriously?_ _**That**_ was Max’s issue here? That he thought she was _in love_ with Leif all of a sudden and hadn’t told him anything? “That’s **not** a love song. It’s… it’s a _lust_ song.”

_What kind of love song had her rolling around on the ground and throwing herself at him like that, anyway?_

“A _lust_ song about how you’d ‘ _love him to love you_ ’?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow, and maybe he’s got her there. Maybe, _just maybe_ , she doesn’t have an explanation for why she’d been singing _that_ to Leif. He doesn’t have to look so **self-righteous** about it, though.

“I—” _am not in love with Leif_. There is a _perfectly good explanation_ for why she sang those words without being in love with Leif. She just… didn’t know it yet.

“… _yeah_. That’s what I thought,” he says, once again taking her silence as concession, but she doesn’t have the energy to be angry about it this time with him giving her that pitiful, resigned look. _Had he already moved from anger into disappointment?_ Because that was **worse**. _Way_ worse. “I should get back to work. If we don’t have this glitch fixed soon, Joan might _actually_ kill us.”

She doesn’t have the heart to follow him this time when he walks away, and maybe that’s for the best. Maybe giving Max time to cool off and herself time to figure out an explanation that will make him happy is the right decision, but it doesn’t feel like it. It certainly doesn’t help that Tobin walks in as Max is on his way out, completely nonchalant about her presence in the men’s restroom.

“‘Sup, dude. ‘Sup, Zoey.” She _should_ feel weird about how casual he is about her being here, right? _Because she feels weird_. _**This is too weird**_. “Are we gossiping about someone? Tell me what you heard, I’ll tell you if it’s true. If it’s Susan from HR, it’s _definitely_ true.”

 _Yeah_. She’s definitely **not** doing this.

* * *

Zoey’s starting to think today might be opposite day, because every time she _thinks_ one thing is going to happen, the universe finds some way to turn it around on her. First the watch, then her dad, then her power, and now… _her boss_.

Granted, _this time_ , that might actually be a **good** thing because Joan… _doesn’t_ sound mad at her? Which is great because she’s _still_ reeling from her fight with Max and all of the weirdness with Leif. She’s not sure if she could handle Joan suddenly changing her mind and deciding that she was _fired_. Or **dead**.

 _It’s good news_. That’s what Zoey keeps telling herself as she talks with Joan. _This is good news_. Joan isn’t mad. They got the money. Danny Michael Davis thinks _**she’s**_ a weirdo ( _pot… meet kettle?_ ). _**All good things**_. _So why can’t she stop waiting for the other ball to drop?_

(Oh. Right. Because it’s _**Joan**_ and there’s no reason she’d be talking to her right now if it was _just_ good news.)

“Why did you not express concern about the timeline?” Joan doesn’t sound **mad** when she asks that question. Zoey supposes that’s still a _good_ thing, since it means she’s in for a much _tamer_ chewing out over the timeline issue than is probably deserved, but there’s a pit in her stomach that just won’t go away either, and she can’t put her finger on _why_.

“…I tried.” _And she did_. _**Try**_. Joan just hadn’t wanted to listen, and _Leif_ …

Well, Zoey would really rather **not** think about that right now.

“And that _song?_ ” Zoey cringes with Joan, remembering some of the more _embarrassing_ moments of that particular performance with great reluctance. _They didn’t really **need** to revisit that, did they?_ “You performed a _song_ for Danny. That was a big swing. I don't mind a big swing, but I can't not _know_ about it. I can't be the one who doesn't _know_ things. Speaking of…”

 _Uh oh._ Zoey is definitely **not** liking where this is going. Not with that lead up and that weird look on Joan’s face, like she almost _doesn’t_ wanna know the answer to whatever question she’s about to ask.

_Just don’t ask it. It’s that easy, Joan. **Just don’t ask** —_

“How long have you been sleeping with Leif?”

_… **it**._

Well _that’s_ … definitely **not** anywhere in the same _galaxy_ as what Zoey had been expecting. Hell, forget being in the same _galaxy_. They’re not even in the same _universe_ anymore.

“That’s… I don’t…” _God, what is she even supposed to **say** to that? _(And no, the ‘ _truth_ ’ is **not** an option, so just… _shut up, inner Max!_ ) _‘How long?’ Joan wants to know ‘ **how long**?’_ That’s… _So, what? They just skipped over the ‘ **are you** ’ entirely? Is that it?_ “That is… _disgusting_. And **wrong**. I don’t even get… _why_ would you… I have **never** had sex with anyone anywhere.” _Oh, God, somebody shut her up._ She might not know what the hell she’s supposed to say to that, but she _does_ know that ‘ _I’ve never had sex_ ’ is **not** the way to go at all. “It’s none of your… You have the nerve, the _audacity_ to— I am his **boss** , technically, and he is _terrible_ face-wise and how… How do I know, frankly, that _you’re_ not the one sleeping with him? _**Huh?**_ Maybe you are. Maybe you’re just trying to throw me off. _Hmm?_ ”

 _Is this part of the glitch?_ Zoey is starting to think this might actually be part of the glitch because there is _no_ other possible explanation for saying all of that to _anyone_ , let alone her **boss**. The same boss that she just accused of sleeping with the very guy _she_ has been sleeping with. (Well, _slept with_ , technically.) _Could the ground swallow her up now?_

“…are you done?” To her credit, Joan mostly just looks like she’s over the conversation already, and it could be **worse**. A _lot_ worse considering what she’d accused her of in her word vomit.

“Are… _you_ done?” _Oh, God, would it never end?_ Zoey cringes again, shaking her head and taking a moment to gather her thoughts before answering for real this time. “…how did you know?”

“I have _eyes_ , Zoey. Plus, you weren’t exactly _subtle_ with the whole song and dance routine.”

 _Right_. She’d _**really**_ been hoping Joan would just… forget about that.

“That wasn’t—”

“If that sentence ends with the words ‘ _about Leif_ ,’ I **will** fire you.” _So much for **that** denial_. “So how long?”

“ **Not** long. Once. _One time._ One and done.” Zoey’s really starting to hate how every time she opens her mouth Joan either calls her out on her bluff or she calls out _herself_ by not being able to just _shut up_. _Would it **kill** her brain to cooperate just this once?_ “Just one **huge** , _unprofessional_ mistake that I will absolutely **will not** be repeating, Joan, I _sw_ —”

“ _You can stop now_ ,” Joan says, interrupting her with an only _mildly_ disturbed look on her face, and her mouth _finally_ snaps shut. “Just… be _careful_ , okay? Leif is a snake, and I don’t want to see you get _hurt_ or **fired** because of him.”

“…I will. Be careful.”

* * *

To Zoey’s surprise (and to the detriment of her attempts to stay at work for as long as possible), _Tobin_ manges to fix the glitch in the watch at a relatively reasonable hour. More than that, he’s even _humble_ about it, which Zoey can’t say she would’ve ever expected before his talk with Leif. (Though, with the way he calls himself a _screw-up_ in the process, she’s not entirely convinced that it’s the **good** thing she’d assumed it was earlier. _Had Leif **really** said that to him?_) She’s not used to having _genuine_ moments with _Tobin Batra_ (mostly, her interactions with him can be boiled down to a series of misogynistic ‘ _jokes_ ’ and suggestive eyebrow waggling), but today seems intent on surprising her at every turn because convincing him that he’s not, in fact, a _screw-up?_ _Feels pretty genuine_.

It doesn’t last _nearly_ long enough, though, and soon enough Tobin is gone and she’s left staring at her computer screen, wondering how much longer she can delay the inevitable.

_No excuses anymore, Zoey. The glitch is fixed. Danny Michael Davis is funding the Chirp. There’s no reason to stay at work anymore. Not unless she can find one in the next five minutes, which is seeming more and more unlikely._

“Hey, why is your mom asking me if you're okay?” Max asks, and it’s the concern in his voice that surprises her more than his sudden appearance next to her. The concern, and also the fact that her mom has apparently resorted to checking up on her through _Max_.

“She texted _you?_ ”

That meant she was probably only another couple of hours away from her mom coming up to SPRQPoint to check on her herself. _So much for avoidance_.

“Yeah. She said she's called a few times. She wants you to call her back.”

“ _Oh_. Uh… I haven't looked at my phone all day,” she says quickly, looking away from Max guiltily so she doesn’t have to see the knowing and disappointed look he’s no doubt wearing.

“Well, maybe you should. People are really worrying about you,” he replies, and out of the corner of her eye she can see him watching her, no trace of the disappointment she’d been expecting from him.

_People like him?_

“Okay.” There’s an uncomfortable pause after, like Max is waiting for her to say something else, and Zoey _wants_ to. He has no idea how badly she wants to. The words are right there too, on the tip of her tongue, but they don’t come out until after Max has already given up and starts walking away. “My father only has a few weeks left.”

She’s not sure if that actually stops him or if his footsteps just got quieter, but finally saying the words out loud feels like a weight that’s just been lifted off her chest, so she takes a deep breath before continuing. “That feels _so_ weird to say. We found out this morning. Or at least… I _think_ it was this morning. This day just keeps going and _going_ and **going**.”

“Zoey, I'm so sorry.”

“And when the doctor told me, I just… _I ran away_. I couldn't face it. And now, I'm supposed to go home so we can all talk about it.” _Talk_. About how her dad is dying and there’s nothing any of them can do to stop it. _Talk_. About what they’re gonna do in his last few weeks when they should still have _years_ ahead of them. _It isn’t fair_. When Zoey turns around to face Max, blinking back tears, there’s no judgement in his expression, and she’s _grateful_ , but it makes keeping her emotions in check even harder than it already is. “I don't know how to be around him. I don't know what to say. I don't know how I'm supposed to look him in the eye. I don't— _I don't think I can do it_.”

“Yes, you can. I _know_ you can,” he says, and Zoey wishes she had even _half_ of the confidence Max clearly has in her because he sounds _so_ sure of himself — so sure of _her_ — and she just… _doesn’t_.

“Were you even here today?” she asks, remembering the train wreck of song after song after song showing that she very clearly was **not** handling things.

“ _Were you?_ ” _Uh, **yeah** , Max_. _Hence the mortification she’d never in a billion years live down,_ she thinks, but she stays silent, watching as Max squats down and continues his pep talk. “'Cause here's what I saw. All day long, you were laying down truths to _everyone_. Joan, Leif, Danny Michael Davis, me… _Leif_ again. And guess what? You made it through. You didn't get _fired_. Nobody **hates** you.”

 _ **Nobody** , huh?_ Zoey just points at Max, knowing that he’ll get it, but instead of agreeing with her he just grins and shakes his head.

“ _Nah_. I’ll get over it. And when I do, you are going to tell me _everything_. I want details,” he says, and after a beat he seems to reconsider because he adds, “Not graphic ones, though. Keep it tasteful.”

 _That_ actually pulls a laugh out of her, and for a moment things feel normal again. No fights. No embarrassment. No impending family tragedy. It’s just her and Max giggling with one another until reality sets back in far too soon.

“I honestly don't know how much longer I can go on singing out loud like this.”

“Isn't the whole point of your powers to help people face things they don't want to face? Maybe everything that happened today is the universe telling you you need to stop avoiding it and go face your father.” _Well, if **that** was the universe’s message for her, it could’ve been a lot more subtle about it. It didn’t need to blow up her personal and professional life in the process_. “You've got this.”

Zoey smiles at Max, nodding, and hesitates only for a moment before throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “ _Thank you_.”

“Of course, Zo.” Max returns the hug half-heartedly, patting her lightly on the back, and she’s about to pull away to ask him what’s wrong when he speaks again. “So um… as much as I’m enjoying the hugging, my knees are _killing_ me, so could you—”

“Oh! _Sorry_.” She pulls away immediately, smiling sheepishly as he stands with a wince. “See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll bring coffee,” he agrees, backing away with a friendly smile.

Zoey’s grin doesn’t drop as she turns back to her desk, packing up her stuff with far less reluctance than she would’ve expected before her talk with Max. _She could do this_. It was gonna hurt _a lot_ , but she was gonna get through this intact.

She’s on her way to the elevator, typing out a quick text to her mom letting her know that she’s heading out when she stumbles into someone, and she’s about to launch into a reflexive and profuse apology when she actually _looks up_ and realizes who it is.

_**Leif** was still here?_

“Hey… _you_.” She wants to cringe at how awkward she sounds right now, trying to be casual with Leif (which, for all its irony, isn’t exactly _funny_ right now). He doesn’t seem phased by her awkwardness now that she has a chance to study him, but she isn’t really sure what to make of the fact that he’s _still here_ either. At the office. And coming from… _the meditation room?_ “Have you been in there this whole time?”

 _That_ seems to fluster him because he flounders for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a guppy for a second before he regains his composure to answer. “Not… the _**whole**_ time.”

“… _oof_.” _Well that wasn’t **not** weird._ Zoey cringes and purses her lips, momentarily debating with herself whether she should actually _address_ the elephant in the room or not (addressing it would be so _awkward_ , but then again, things were _already_ awkward; _could they really get any **worse**?_) before continuing. “So about earlier…”

“You mean when you sang—”

“We don’t… need to rehash it,” she says quickly, cutting him off before he can repeat the title of the song. She’d had plenty of _that_ from Max today. She didn’t need it from Leif too. “There is a _perfectly logical_ explanation for that, though.”

_One that she would figure out in the next thirty seconds, hopefully. Think, Zoey. **Think**._

“More logical than you… wanting me to want you?” he asks, and does he sound… _hopeful?_ **No** , that’d be ridiculous. _Why would he sound hopeful?_ She needed sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. And then copious amounts of coffee in the morning to make up for the fact that she’d inevitably not get _enough_ sleep.

“Oh, _you wish_ ,” she teases, scoffing and playfully shoving him on the shoulder, and that seems to dissolve at least a little bit of the tension left between them because he smiles and ducks his head, shaking it.

“…so what is it?”

_Here it is. Her moment to shine. She’d have an excuse ready in three… two… one…_

“I… lost a bet. With Max.”

_Okay, was that **really** the best she could come up with?_

“…a _**bet**?_”

_See, even **Leif** didn’t believe her. **Stupid brain**. You have **all day** to come up with an excuse… _

“With Max, yes,” she repeats, nodding solemnly in an effort to sell the ruse.

“ _Right_ …” Leif still sounds skeptical, and Zoey braces herself to have to defend the lie further. _Would he want to know specifics? Why the bet, how the bet, when the bet? ... **where** the bet?_ “So, his reaction to walking in on you singing to me was because…”

 _Oh. Oh **that**_. Well that was _easy_.

“Because he didn’t _know_ that we had… _**you know**_.” _Had sex_. “And I may have lied to him about it. And I may have _also_ plotted your murder with him on several occasions.”

_Man, lying got **loads** easier when she was just telling the truth. Who would’ve guessed?_

“ _Wow_.” Leif looks… shocked. Perhaps a little bit offended as well ( _maybe the murder thing was a bit much?_ ), but he also looks like he _believes_ her, so she’s gonna throw it into the win column as a whole. _Phew_. That’s one bullet dodged. “So just to be clear, you **don’t** want me to want you.”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘ _p_ ’ with a bit more emphasis than is necessary to sell the answer.

“And you’re also **not** still planning my murder, I hope,” he says, a wary grin curving his lips, and she breathes another sigh of relief at how casual he’s being about that. _So he wasn’t going to be weird about it. **Good**._

“ _Definitely not_ ,” she agrees, laughing, and that seems to break up another chord of tension between them because he laughs with her and it’s _nice_. _Familiar_. She almost wishes that it didn’t have to end, but after everything that’s happened today, she isn’t about to leave her mom hanging. “Um… I have a _thing_ tonight, but maybe tomorrow we could get coffee and takeout? Hit the ground running with the Chirp?”

It’s a bit of an olive branch after the day they’ve had, offering to stay late tomorrow to work with him. She feels a bit silly worrying so much about whether he’ll say _yes_ or not (why should it even matter?), but when his wary grin turns into an excited one she can’t help but return it.

“Sounds great.”

_Yeah. It **did**._

They part with a few more pleasantries, him heading back towards his desk to grab his stuff (she probably should’ve realized he hadn’t left by the fact that his bike helmet was still sitting where he usually kept it on his desk, but in her defense, she’d been a bit _distracted_ at the time), and her continuing on toward the elevator.

One of the few perks of working late? Not having to wait long for the elevator. The doors open shortly after she presses the button for the ground floor, and they start to close soon after stepping inside, only stopping when an arm pops in at the last minute and a familiar face comes into view as they open again.

 _Simon_. _Man, she was just running into **everybody** now, wasn’t she?_

“Look at you finally getting out,” he teases, grinning _far_ too infectiously for how late at night it is. _Wasn’t he usually gone by now? What was he still doing here?_

“You’re here pretty late yourself. Everything okay?” The ‘ _with Jessica_ ’ part of the question is once again left implied, and Zoey watches warily as he seems to process it and mull it over.

“Honestly?” he asks, and even though Zoey is pretty sure it’s _rhetorical_ , she nods intently “… _yeah_. Your talk earlier—”

_Oh no. Not that._

“That was out of line, I know. _I’m sorry_ , I just—”

“ _No_. It really helped, actually,” he says, interrupting her quickly before she can spiral _too_ far out of control.

“… _it did?_ ”

She probably shouldn’t sound as surprised as she does. It’s not like Simon would _lie_ to her or anything. It’s just… not even close to the outcome she’d been expecting, even if it’s the outcome she’d been hoping for.

“You weren’t wrong when you were saying that I wasn’t being fair to Jessica. _Or you_. As hard as it was to hear… I needed to hear it. _So thank you_. For sure, this time,” he jokes, nudging her on the shoulder, and she’s still a little bit in shock so she just nods, attempting a smile that she hopes doesn’t look as confused as she feels. “I just stayed late to get ahead on some things. Me and Jess are gonna take the weekend. Talk it out. Maybe do some trust exercises…”

“No trust falls!” she says, finally finding her bearings enough to joke with him, and it must play well because he’s still smiling at her when he nods.

“ _Duly noted_.”

“I’m glad it helped,” she says after another long pause, smiling at him tentatively. “You deserve to be happy.”

“ _So do you_. Speaking of… ” _Uh oh._ Zoey’s not sure she likes where **this** is going. And why does he sound weirdly like Joan, saying that? “Does your ‘ _being over me_ ’ have anything to do with a certain tall, similarly dressed coder?”

Okay. She **definitely** doesn’t like where this is going. _Or_ what he’s insinuating. _Seriously, what was it with people today assuming that she has some kind of a **thing** for Leif?_

“ … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says quickly, turning away from Simon to stare at a particularly shiny spot on the inside of the elevator.

“So that _wasn’t_ you asking him out on a date just now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“That’s **not** a date,” she insists, and she can feel her cheeks burning as she shakes her head, ~~giving her away~~.

_And what was he doing eavesdropping on her anyway?_

“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced, and normally, she wouldn’t blame him, but… _it’s **Leif**._ She’s just supposed to not be bothered by the fact that he’s convinced she has a thing for _**Leif**_ all of a sudden? “He’s a good guy, Zoey. I’m happy for you.”

“And I’m… glad you approve of my _completely platonic_ relationship.” Because that’s exactly what it was. _A completely platonic relationship._ Not counting the **sex** , obviously. It’s almost a _relief_ when the elevator finally _**ding!** s_, signalling their arrival on the ground floor. “This is my stop. You have a good weekend.”

“You too. Make sure Leif has you home by eleven!” he says, first out of the elevator and already halfway through the lobby before she’s even processed the words.

“ _ **It’s not a date!**_ ” she yells back, rolling her eyes and biting back a grin at how quickly he makes his escape.

_It’s not a date._

_**It’s not**._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Very special credit for this line goes out to [euphrasiepontmercy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphrasiepontmercy/pseuds/euphrasiepontmercy) who came up with it in a Discord conversation and I just HAD to use it. Isabella, you're a freaking genius, and thank you for allowing me to use it in my fic. ♥
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr!](https://leifdonnellys.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments feed me deep in my soul. Kudos boost my serotonin levels. Doing both earns you my undying adoration. ♥
> 
>  **UPDATE** : If you're rereading this and noticing the ending is a bit different than you remember, that's because my pasting of this fic evidently fucked up and a whole chunk of the ending didn't get added. Whoops! So enjoy the _real_ ending. ♥


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